Indelible
by monotropus
Summary: When offered a fairly simple quest ( by godly standards ), Nico undertakes a task that "will help him understand what he needs". Except, what he needs is soon forgotten in an illusion that he cannot break. It's everything he's ever wanted - and more. And there begins his trouble.
1. Part One: Things Fall Apart

**[ Disclaimer: ]** I hereby state first and foremost that Percy Jackson and Co. do not belong to me. Yes, even despite my everlasting maternal love for Nico di Angelo . . . No worries, however, adoption is always up whenever Mr. Riordan decides to relinquish him into my care. Aha, just joking. A debt of eternal gratitude is offered to Mr. Riordan in a flashy show of pizza offered on a burning pyre. Because, really, I consider you one of my gods.

**[ Authors Note: ]** This idea popped into my head soon after the release of the _House of Hades._ The first chapter was written, the plot was somewhat laid down, and it was actually posted on Fan Fiction. Then one day I looked through my work and winced in horror; I was terrified of what I'd written. After quickly taking it down, and ensconcing away for a few months to hide my shame, I returned from my sojourn of independent writing fresh and new (and without internet) and decided to give this idea another chance. I still think it's cute, but I have this overwhelming fear of people and their opinions and what they think of my writing. I ask that you do give me a chance. I also ask that you kick my ass if I ever toe the line of OOC-ness. And lastly, I ask that you keep an open mind. Even I get confused in this mess of words, sometimes. Ah, but all the loves and kisses to my darlings who read this through and double checked for me! I hope you enjoy.

* * *

_Part One._

**Things Fall Apart.**

I.

When he'd fallen in love with Percy Jackson – or rather, when he'd known enough to distinguish between the hero-worship and the warm feeling fluttering in his gut like butterflies – Nico had been young, he'd been foolish, and he'd never envisioned the day where he would grudgingly agree to do something so drastically stupid.

The night is dark when he, Reyna, and the forty-foot statue of the_ Athena Parthenos_ shadow-travel onto the hillside. The young demigod collapses, already feverish, onto the grass still wet from the day's earlier rain, though it is short and bristly, brown in some places from neglect. He is thin, swallow-like, and frail; the journey has left him deathly white, so much so that his companion, the Roman praetor, kneels beside him, brushing her fingers over his forehead. Though he loathes touch, Nico welcomes the feel of Reyna's' cold fingers on his skin, her heat seeping through his skin. She says something, though what, Nico doesn't catch; he hurts in too many places to care. The fever works fast, viciously eating away in all its heated fury at whatever it could grasp, dragging from somewhere deep in the demigod memories he wished to forget. In his mind, it was suddenly Tartarus, and it wasn't the fever that burned but the heat, the air that hurt his lungs; now he relived forcefully the days that he had spent far, far down, in the deep depths of the abyss.

Somewhere in that time he'd tried to draw some hope from the ghost of Bianca, and when his own sister hadn't been enough to hold him together, he'd survived only on the thoughts of the green eyed son of the sea god, pushing himself onwards on thoughts of Percy, who would've fought, Percy, who was so strong, Percy, who would survive no matter what, Percy, Percy, Percy, until the inevitable end….

The fever and its delirium ebb. In its stead, something sweet is on his tongue and for the first time in a long time, Nico can hear his heart, drum-drumming in his chest. He can hear Reyna, very near him, saying "Stay with me, di Angelo!" urging him to chew what she had slipped through his lips. He swallows without really tasting. The pain, the fever, they are small things after that; some strength works into his body, some thought gathers in his mind. He realizes Reyna is cleaving to him, and he is revolted by the mere notion, of Reyna touching him, of anyone touching him.

"If you hear me, be strong," she says, the tiniest of pleas' in her voice. He tries to push her away, to pry from her some actual space, to gather his words and his senses to him, but she is stubborn, all warm and soft, reeking of the days travel. He doesn't know why she of all people wants touch him, doesn't know why he shadow traveled in the first place. It's a very tiring task, trying to stay awake and coherent at the same time. Reyna is annoying, saying encouraging words to him that he doesn't need; she keeps saying he needs to stay alive. Why though? If he died, Nico thought, he'd only go back to the Underworld. Death wasn't really death, really, when you were the son of Hades.

It takes a minute or two between his thoughts for Nico to notice that Reyna is silent, she isn't touching him anymore. It is wrong, abruptly, being left alone like that. When he scraps enough energy together, he forces one eye open, greeting a bleak black sky and its lonely white moon shining dimly in the darkness. After that, Nico can't tell much of anything. It's all lost amidst the fever, rearing its ugly head again so soon. Then, truly, oblivion comes to claim him. Before everything becomes nothing, he sees the memories again, of Tartarus, of the mighty chasm, infinite, the yawning mouth of Hell, the festering cesspool of all things nasty and twisted and dark. He is reminded of Bianca not being enough comfort him to prize strength from, of the thought of his father lending no comfort. It was Percy, the thought of Percy finally giving purchase to a steady ground that kept him going until he was overwhelmed, Percy always finding some way to make it back alive, Percy always finding a reason to smile, Percy helping him understand what it was to be good and strong, Percy, Percy, Percy...

* * *

**originally published:** 04/11/2014  
**cover image sourced from:** viria(.tumblr.)  
**word count:** 744


	2. Part One: II

**[ Disclaimer: ] ** I hereby state first and foremost that Percy Jackson and co. do not belong to me. Yes, even despite my everlasting maternal love for Nico di Angelo . . . No worries, however, adoption is always up whenever Mr. Riordan decides to relinquish him into my care. Aha, just joking. A debt of eternal gratitude is offered to Mr. Riordan in a glitzy show of hamburgers offered on a burning pyre. Because, really, I consider you one of my gods.

* * *

II.

Afterwards, when he comes to, Nico knows that things aren't what they should be. Waking up, he feels better, light, aware of himself and his surroundings with suspicious clarity. He remembered almost nothing from the shadow-travel and the hillside, except for Reyna and the statue, both nowhere to be found when he searches for them. A hint, a very blatant hint, is that he awakes in the ruins of Diocletian's palace. He is there, and when he stands up, brushing the dust from the weathered tile beneath him, he finds that he is in a plain white T-shirt and crisp blue jeans. He feels naked—and tacky—without his aviators' jacket. One lone comfort is the Stygian blade at his side; he runs his fingers over the hilt, lovingly almost, more assured of himself after feeling the weight of the weapon tucked securely in the loop of his belt. The remains of the dead King's palace, in Croatia, are just as they had always been, from yesteryear to present day: desolate, decrypt, and barren, creepy in the former splendor that had weathered beneath times' passing.

No Jason, however.

Nico shivers. He comes to the conclusion that it's a dream. Never willingly would he return to Croatia.

"_You're right, you know." _The voice chimes in, speaking out of nowhere, causing Nico to jump, gripping the hilt of his Stygian sword in reflex. It's everywhere, even in Nico's head; he grits his teeth, not recognizing the voice, not recognizing the feeling that comes along with it.

"Who's there?" he barks

"_Now, now,"_ the booming voice replies, exploding into sound once again _"that's no way to greet someone, is it? Where's the _love?"

The unfamiliarity becomes familiar. Nico goes rigid, becoming a pale statue with black hair. It's him, he thinks with utter despair.

"_But I suppose, under better circumstances, we could greet each other with a tad bit more affection" _the voice continues on, nonchalantly. Nico keeps his mouth shut, jaw clenched, feeling the muscles working underneath the skin.

"_Not talking, are we?"_ the voice concludes; it is loud, rumbling. It is the voice of a god without restraint, without a mortal shell to wrap a godly form in. It is the voice of Cupid, yet not as harsh, not so blunt, more lax and carefree, a lilt of romanticism laced in the timbre.

"_Very well then. I enjoy you demigods better when you're silent." _This voice talks more too _"I have no business but the business of love after all."_

When the words are spoken, it is only then that Nico acknowledges, with a jolt, that he is thinking along those lines. He remembers, with more dread, that Cupid had the uncanny ability to pick up on thoughts, mind reader or not. Yet the presence wasn't Cupid, it didn't feel like Cupid-

After a few minutes, Nico, careful, speaks "Who are you?"  
Immediately, without pause or grand introduction, the voice responds _"Eros."_

Confirmation turns Nico's blood cold; leery of his last meeting with Cupid, he draws his sword, black as a nightmare, ready for any unseen assault that might come his way. Forgoing his earlier resolve to stay silent, he asks "And what do you want?"

"_Well, first off, respect,"_ and there, the demigod hears the stern, terrifying boom of Cupid in Eros's voice, replacing the romantic lilt with something austere. It shifts, quickly, just a second's change between the god and his two personalities, but Nico catches it, and his heart beats a little faster.

"_I want nothing – but you, Nico di Angelo, _you_ need something from _me._" _

Tempted to tell Eros what he thought of the last statement, and what the god of Love could do with it, the young demigod opted for the rational response,

"Not interested." No sooner had the words been spoken, spit through clenched teeth, does the god respond, starting with a low chuckle that echoes in Nico's head, something like the clap of thunder that comes before the storm_._

"_Not interested? Lies. " _

The air grows cold, the warning of a shadow flits over the illusion of the sun; a scowl twists across Nico's face, defining more sharply his gaunt cheeks and hollow, distant eyes. "You don't know anything about me…" his voice cracks on the last word.

"_I know enough; I know love and that is the universal truth. It's everything, son of Hades. Ask your father, your mother…or Percy Jackson."_

And there, there the mark had been met; there the god had prodded and jabbed, bringing to light his intentions. Nico holds onto his sword so tightly that the knuckles show.

"_Truth is, inevitably, I can't let some things go. Especially if it ties into the fate of very important things." _An audible sigh punctuates the last sentence. "_You need something from me far more valuable than Diocletian's scepter – you know that, I know that, yes, even as you stand there before me," _

Eros allows the words to sink in, halting his monologue briefly only to continue with _"But what you need from comes with a cost."_

"I don't need anything from _you_" Nico spits, breaking the rising tension with words sharp and angry "News flash. I don't need anything from you and I never will!"

"_Say that,"_ suddenly, Eros is more than a mere voice; he is solid and real, unseen, yet strong; invisible hands press to his shoulder, fingers that can't be seen press against his bones, threatening to crush what was already fragile _"To the death that awaits you at the end of this journey." _Another pause before "_Then again, death isn't my business. Love is my business and I'm not here to save your life. Don't flatter yourself. It's not romantic." _

It dawns on Nico then; refusal of Eros and his proposal means one sure thing and that is the god's ire; more so than the crushing feeling of the hand on his shoulder, Nico knows the wrath of a god means trouble, trouble that he didn't need, not with an all-out war promising certain doom and destruction. If there was one thing he had learned, amidst the death and the fighting and the more death, it was that Fate was inevitable and the will of the gods nearly insurmountable. The thought of Eros as his enemy, of Love as his enemy, finally did him in. Bianca had once told him, once upon a time long ago, that holding grudges was a fault of the children of Hades. It was their undoing.

"So what? You want me on a quest – in the middle of another journey, that could keep Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter from going to war? What quest is more important than that?" His words are clipped. He decides he will play to the god's will, and in it, find his own way.

"_Exactly. The business of love is my only business."_ The hand is gone and Eros's voice grows distant _"Know now and remember, I give few quests. But you want me gone, correct? Be honest. Accept this quest, demigod, and you and I will never cross paths again."_

Standing properly again, Nico stares, pale color flushing his cheeks. The dream wavers, flickering as dreams tend to do.

"I accept."

"_You accept?" _

Grudgingly, "I accept you quest."

For a brief moment's respite, Eros stays silent, his presence receding to something small. Then he appears, first as shimmering air, then as vague shape and finally form. Eros was tall and lean, androgynous in appearance, with locks of lemon yellow hair falling into ringlets on his head. His skin was bronzed, glowing softly even in the sun light pooling in through the ruined pillars of the palace. Straight white teeth flash from a crooked smile. It was Eros, in all his Greek joviality and ease, not the thing of war that Cupid had embodied; here, Eros was no warrior, dressed in nothing but a simple white toga and golden sandals. No wings graced his back, no halo adorned his hair. He was handsome and mischievous, radiating with provocative innocence. He was love, playful and meddlesome, tantalizing. But in his eyes, just as Cupid, the cruelness was there, the fragmented bits of a million broken hearts all squeezed dry.

He produces to Nico not his bow and arrows but a small glass vial, tiny in his hold, filled with nothing.

"_Bring to me the pieces of a broken heart that even I cannot mend. Put the essence of it in this vial and I will find its owner and aim my arrow at them and shoot. If their heart is healed, then you have failed. If you succeed, I will give you to you something that you need."_

"But-" Nico's words are lost in the booming echoes of Eros and his voice, disappearing in the same shimmering air that had produced the golden youth, leaving behind the glass vial, suspended.

The remains of Diocletian's palace shudder, groaning as if the earth had bones and those bones were aching. The ruins begin to crumble, collapsing in on itself. When he awakes, Nico can still taste the ashes.

* * *

**originally posted:** 04/12/2014  
**word count:** 1,518


	3. Part Two: Once Upon A Dream

**[ Disclaimer: ] ** I hereby state first and foremost that Percy Jackson and co. do not belong to me. Yes, even despite my everlasting maternal love for Nico di Angelo . . . No worries, however, adoption is always up whenever Mr. Riordan decides to relinquish him into my care. Aha, just joking. A debt of eternal gratitude is offered to Mr. Riordan in a ritzy show of chicken nuggets offered on a burning pyre. Because, really, I consider you one of my gods.

* * *

_Part two_

**Once upon a dream **

I.

Senate meetings were always boring. They were political arenas comprised of people and their rules. Not that Nico had a thing against rules. Order was everything, he _liked_ order, to a degree that situated him to a tee. When there was order, there was respect, and when there was respect, there was the sense of belonging. But Senate meetings were very, very boring – boring enough to lull people to sleep.

Sloughing the dregs of sleep away, he wakes up to the feeling that he has been dreaming, though dreaming about what he can't remember. Nico gets the faint notion of _something very important happening_, yet the _something very important happening_ does nothing to make itself clear. Then, then just when it seems pointless, a fruitless search for something that was surely lost forever, he remembers, quite suddenly, a name and the name is foreign and without ground. He has never heard of the name, never in his life, but the strange thing is he feels like he has.

Annabeth.

Nico's skin crawls at the name. It seems to mock him. The Senate meeting plows on ahead, indifferent to all else but the small, yet crucial matter at hand. A voice cracks through his thoughts like a whip, forcing all thoughts of Annabeth and forgotten dreams to the corner of his mind.

"But he is a _graecus!_" This was, naturally, Octavian, with his thin arms and crazed eyes, raving like the lunatic he was. Nico's opinion of Octavian had never recovered, not after the near war that had ensued by his demand alone. Octavian was dangerous, useful, but dangerous.

Coolly, Reyna interjects, curtly asking for order. She is, as Nico has come to expect, collected and levelheaded. Dressed in the odd array of Roman armory and Camp Jupiter clothing, she is a sight to behold. He has come to appreciate the tough look in her eyes, the plainness of her speech. Besides her, the second Roman praetor didn't match the august look so well. Frank looks, as Nico feels, bored to tears. He tried, he honestly did, as he sat straight and kept eye contact with the other members, though every once in a while his eyes fluttered shut before they opened again, glancing around to make sure that no one had seen him doze off.

Other than the two praetors, there was on the council, as all Senate meetings dictated, citizens of New Rome come to advise the Roman leaders, to play the part of the actual Senators needed. There was a Jeannette and a Paul and withered old man who they called Lucian. Jeannette was the youngest of the advisers, only somewhere in her early thirties, but she looked severe in her woman's toga. She had a long nose that she looked people down on. The other man, Paul, he was stocky and nice, with a sharply defined jaw and thinning black hair that made him look like a soccer coach rather than a retired demigod. And the old man, Lucian, sat perfectly still, dull and dazed as he had looked since the beginning of the Senate meeting. Together, the adults and the praetors made five, who made the council (rather than the actual ten that were required), who sat behind an immaculate white marble table that presided over the rest of the Senate meeting.

The ceiling of the Senate House was high, and domed, so it was hard to see it if one tried to (not that Nico was trying). Several pillars supported the structure here and there where the ceiling came to touch, yet even those were huge. The Senate room was just one of many that made the Senate House, which was actually a temple. All senate and official matters were held on holy ground. It was all ancient stone, rectangular and white, which gave the feeling of a heavenly courthouse.

And in the center, where they were proposing their case and arguing for their right, was Percy and Harper, and Nico, a little ways away, so that he was more with the shadows.

"We saved the world!" shoots back Percy "We put Gaea back to sleep! That has to count for something."

"You?" scoffs Octavian "_You?_ That's a pretentious thing to say. It was a team effort!"

"I never said I did it alone!"

"He didn't!" says Harper, speaking sharply. Wisps of blonde hair cling to his skin, coming out of the neat knot at the nape of his neck.

Octavian's eyes narrow ever so slightly; everyone knew that he especially had it in for Harper, after his refusal to pay for what the Greeks had done to Camp Jupiter months ago. Even after they had saved the world (for the second time) and returned the _Athena Parthenos_ to Camp Half-Blood, Octavian had never forgiven Harper. The guy didn't know how to let go of a grudge, by Nico's judgment.

Which wasn't very good judgment, really, considering the mess that he had allowed himself to fall in.

"We aren't asking for special treatment," says Harper. "But…I want to go to college, I want to study architecture. Aren't we allowed that even?"

The council goes silent. Percy casts Harper a glance that Nico translates as_ nice going dude! _The ghost of a smile threatens to curl across his lips, which unsettles him, since he finds that he's let his gaze travel to Percy, and he finds that he still thinks Percy is an idiot, but a good idiot, an idiot he once trusted.

He stops looking.

"Look," says the woman, Jeannette "there are no actual rules set in stone. But it's all in us, the rules that we have to abide by. New Rome is Roman territory. How can we overlook century's worth of history and heritage for three demigods?" She leans forwards, placing her arms on the long table of the council, knitting her fingers together. Nico thinks she looks like a harpy, staring them down.

But Percy isn't fazed "And what's wrong with that?"

Reyna leans forward, staring Percy down with as she asked "Is this a joke to you, Percy?"

Percy blanches slightly. Nico shifts, uncomfortable, realizing he hasn't been forgotten, at least not by everyone.

The man, Paul, clears his throat loudly, flyaway wisps of hair sticking up at odd ends, "You can't just _do_ that—you should, er, know that, Percy. You're a special case, a very special case, so this isn't such a problem for you. You trained with Lupa, you've been branded, you've been chosen. Juno brought you to us. And yes, you helped save the world. But those two? They're Greek."

Nico notices that Harper stiffens slightly. He notices that his lips are pale and his eyes are wide, that subtly he is taut and hoping, desperately. He wants this, badly, Nico realizes, he wants to live in New Rome.

"It's not about what we want." Jeannette adds, "We would let you live in New Rome, we would do it. It is about tradition, and upholding the honor of Rome."

Everyone goes silent again. Nico mulls, not thoroughly interested. He picks methodically at every word, processing it all. He thinks it's unfair, what they're doing to Percy and Harper. They deserved the chance to attend college in New Rome, even if it meant forgoing their ten years' worth of service.

Then Nico is speaking, for the first time, which startles Frank and the old man, Lucian. All eyes are on him, even Percy's, and inside he wishes they would all look away. But he remains stoic, going on without squandering a seconds worth of precious time. "Ten years' worth of service can be exchanged. It's been done before. Why not just add us to the reserve? That way we train and still give back to Rome."

"I understand those two," Paul counters, casting a weary glance to Percy and Harper "but you? You're hardly sixteen."

"Fifteen," Nico corrects "I'm hardly fifteen."

"You're only… fourteen. Why do _you_ want to live in New Rome?"

At this, a grim frown forms on Nico's lips. He looks at them all, first Paul, then Jeannette, then Reyna and Octavian and Frank. Then Harper. And lastly, Percy.

"Nico and I," Reyna interjects "have discussed this matter beforehand."

"So it's a done deal now, isn't it?" pipes up Octavian "we're going to let two Greek demigods and a fake live in New Rome? _Our_ New Rome, which has survived a millennia of time!"

The air drops by a few frigid degrees. Nico draws back into himself, wishing to be away from them all, thinking that while they argue and argue, no matter the fate, tomorrow will come and he will make good on his promise of disappearing forever. He's not a fan of Reyna speaking on his behalf. Percy and Harper may belong in New Rome, but he knows that he doesn't.

"Very well," says Reyna and she stands, commandeering the scattered attention of the adjourned towards her. She looks about steely, between the adults and the soldiers, and at last, she speaks.

"As Roman praetor, I know the weight of honor and tradition. It is a Roman demigod's duty to serve ten years' worth of service. But, Percy Jackson, Harper Chase, and Nico di Angelo have served the army and exceeded demand. And while two of them may not be considered Roman, they have shown their worth as soldiers…"

"As praetor, I say let them live in New Rome –and enlist in the reserve army that guards it."

She remains standing. Octavian stands next, placing his spidery fingers atop the white marble of the table "I disagree. As centurion and augur, I don't hold so much power. But I do confer with the gods, they send me messages. I will speak to them and I will ask them about this! And I say, let them ultimately decide!"

An expectant gaze towards Frank was offered by Reyna, who stands. Although he'd lost the clumsiness that he'd possessed in the early beginning, and become surer of himself, Frank was out of his league. He wasn't so quick with his tongue, as Reyna was, since he tripped over a word or two, but his stance was firm and he agreed with her, even going so far as to give Percy and Harper a warm smile that quickly faded away.

Then, the advisers stood, first Jeannette, who said "I advise, praetors, that you reconsider your decisions. Romans do not break tradition for special cases. It was never the way. But if it is your choice, then do so as you must, but—" her gaze turns to Octavian "let the augur confer with the gods first." The other advisers nod, half-solemn, saying nothing.

"Then it is decided," says Reyna "your plea has been approved, Percy Jackson. From this day on, you and your friends are no longer members of the Roman Empire. You are retired and you are allowed to live in New Rome. If the gods permit it."

And like that, the meeting ended. Nico watches as Percy turns to Harper, and they laugh with each other. Harper laughs nervously, visibly shaken now, but Percy, Percy laughs openly, as if he knew he would win. The two linger to speak to Frank and Reyna, while Octavian slinks away somewhere (to do whatever nuts did). Nico hesitates in joining them, preferring to leave rather than stay.

He never really, in the long run, thought it would be easy to convince the Roman leaders to let them live in New Rome. Even after Percy had suggested it and Harper had agreed, Nico didn't _think _he would've been included. But after the war, they'd kept a close eye on him, all of them. Especially Jason. Then, really without really talking to him, he was lumped in with Percy and Harper's plea to join life in New Rome. But the reality of it didn't strike him fully until he was walking towards the group, Percy and Harper and Reyna and Frank. They were all smiling, as they had been for the past few months or so. Frank was saying something that sounded like he wished he could ditch duty and go to college in New Rome too, something which earned him a disapproving look from Reyna. Harper was rattling on and on about architecture and degrees and studies that needed to be covered. Reyna wasn't speaking much, but she lingered for a reason. And Percy, Percy was talking to Nico, he was thanking him for coming up with the reserve idea. He was telling Nico how it was a god-send, his timing. He was looking at him with those sea-green eyes, so bright warm, and Nico felt ten years old again. He felt like he was looking at his idol, who was promising to protect his sister and bring her back alive.

But Bianca hadn't come back alive. She hadn't come back at all. Nico felt ten and suddenly without a family. He felt ten and without someone to understand how different he actually was, how different he would always be.

He was saying to Percy, "yeah it was no problem," but inside he wants to run away again.

He was looking at Percy, into his sea-green eyes, and for the oddest reason, Nico couldn't stop thinking of Annabeth.

* * *

He meets Reyna outside the Senate House, waiting in front of the building for a good half-hour whilst she stays behind to talk to the advisers. Nearly everyone else leaves. For that, he is grateful. He doesn't want to face Harper or Percy, or even Frank at that. They seem too happy, too content with their win that wasn't really a win. Just a matter of will, really, when Nico thought about it. Inevitably, they would've been allowed to live in New Rome, Senate or not.

Though a full blown Senate meeting to decide such a matter was serious. Usually, senate meetings were held for trivial matters by the advisers alone, to discuss minor things that kept the city running. Paul and Jeannette were just two of the actual council that presided over much of New Rome. Lucian was the eldest member, no doubt. Back in Ancient Rome, Nico mulls, the system was completely different. Then again, Ancient Rome was…well Ancient. And dead. In a sense.

When Reyna finally appears, she pinches the bridge of her nose and gathers the hem of her toga, to keep it from dragging. Not something that she would usually worry about, but the toga she wore was a special one. An old one. They stand before the Senate House, and it is Reyna who speaks first. Her words are clear and monotone, though her eyes dance with a curiosity that she doesn't hide. She wants to know, Nico thinks to himself, just as they all do.

He digs his hands into his pockets, keeps them there. "Thanks. For reminding me of that."

She nods, "Not a big problem. The loop hole was pretty big, but I was worried that Percy would miss it. And if Harper said it, then…well, everyone would be suspicious. It had to be you."

He meets her stare with a level gaze of his own. His eyes haven't lost their hollowed gleam. He doesn't want to admit it but something different was formed between Reyna and him when they'd traveled together those few months ago. Nico isn't great at gouging friendships but he knows enough to think that she feels some sort of bond between them that wasn't there before. Naturally, she would, when she'd seen Nico at his weakest and most vulnerable, passed out after every shadow-travel. He withers on the inside, not exactly humiliated but hesitant. He still worries that he told her something he shouldn't have.

"This didn't need so much fanfare, you know."

She laughs, softly but sharply "Fanfare? Hardly. I kept it a secret as best as I could and so did Frank. If anyone finds out, it's Octavian's fault, and he will be dealt with. But honestly? You three deserve a break."

Nico replies, "Don't we all? I mean, we all fight the same fight."

Reyna shakes her head "Not all of us."

He bites his lip, heart racing. "Thank you…again."

She doesn't make a show of it, his gratitude. Instead, she turns away from him, choosing to look at the horizon that awaits them, disturbed here and now by the jutting peak of a town house rising. Even from where they stand, they could hear it, the city. The people. A new life that awaited Nico, and in less than ten years' time, Reyna. Looking, from the slight hill that the Senate House stands on, she says "A Greek living in New Rome isn't such big news. Stranger things have happened. The people, they're all good. They'll treat you and Percy and Harper right. Those two will go to college and you will…"

He continues staring at her, even as he speaks "I don't know. Maybe I'll finish my studies online and then go to college."

"That's it?" she still doesn't look at him "you aren't going to leave after that?"

Nico shrugs "I don't know."

She turns back to him. "You know, in the war, it was all my forces could do to keep both the city and the camp from pure destruction. They blew Jupiter's temple to smithereens, didn't even bother with Neptune's. Nearly turned the temple of Mars Ultor to dust. And the temple of Pluto, they did some serious damage to it. We don't have the manpower to get to all those repairs all at once. Of course, we must attend to Jupiter's first. He _is _Optimus and Maximus. But the gods, they can be very fickle sometimes. One slip up can start a whole new war."

"Who's to look over these…uh, renovations to Pluto's temple?" he asks

"That's the problem, we just don't know."

"And why is that?"

"We _have_ lost a lot of good men. And many are still injured. Those who aren't have either called in their right to take a break or have other duties to attend to. We will get to the rebuilding of the temples, it is our duty. But between Jupiter and Mars Ultor, several months, a year or two perhaps, before we get to Pluto."

He hesitates, unsure of whether the proposition was really a smart decision to make. Playing the Ambassador of Pluto was one thing. But to rebuild his temple? Wouldn't that have been Hazel's thing, being the actual daughter of the god? But then again, the gods and their personalities were mere formalities, the cons that came with being immortal and the products of man. One way or another, he was still honoring his father; somewhere deep down inside, Nico still wanted that, more than anything, to please his father.

He clears his throat "I wouldn't…mind helping."

Reyna nods again, letting the hem of her purple toga pool onto the ground slowly before gathering it up again. "I'm pleased to hear that, Ambassador of Pluto."

He hesitates, unsure of whether the proposition was really a smart decision to make. Playing the Ambassador of Pluto was one thing. But to rebuild his temple? Wouldn't that have been Hazel's thing, being the actual daughter of the god? But then again, the gods and their personalities were mere formalities, the cons that came with being immortal and the products of man. One way or another, he was still honoring his father; somewhere deep down inside, Nico still wanted that, more than anything, to please his father.

A wry smile seems to flash across Reyna's lips, though it's too quick to tell. She made to leave, yet

"—Hey," Nico asks "Did you ever know an Annabeth?"

Reyna halts "Annabeth?"

Nico feels his skin crawl again. Her name haunts him. She doesn't have a face, or a memory, but her name exists in his head.

"No…" Reyna replies, slowly "there was never an Annabeth before. Why? Was she a soldier?"

Nico shakes his head, "No, I don't think she was."

Reyna tilts her head to the side, slightly, the same curiosity flickering in her Roman's stare. He didn't know what it was, but Roman's seemed to have a gift with their eyes, the way that they happened to look at other people. Nico suddenly thinks back on all those shadow-travels, and the fevers, and Reyna feeding him ambrosia and nectar, begging in between for him to stay alive while she fought off the monsters. Every time.

She doesn't ask, though, she doesn't bother asking if something's wrong. He doesn't want her to. If she does, then Nico is unsure of whether he will tell her or not. Every time he mentions Annabeth, something stirs in him, something sluggish and dozing, something haunting. The name evokes a feeling of panic and worst of all, shame. When he says Annabeth, the world shakes a little.

"So what to do now?" he quickly changes the subject

Reyna, already settled back into her usual mood, begins walking away, only calling back as an answer "Well, you talk to Percy about that. I wish you luck, Nico. Enjoy New Rome."

* * *

**posted on:** 04/17/2014  
**word count:** 3, 512


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